Reckless Union

I watch you.
I wonder if you are aware.

I’m crazed with spinning,
feeling like a drunk evaporation
split-second stopped suddenly swooping,
shell-shocked. I want
to be beautiful.
Not just for you, but
independently for me;
to be admired from a
severed standpoint, the way
you are. And wanting separation
from a sorrow tied to childhood
chirping in the back of my mind,
a past I can’t rewind
but would rather record over
and leave behind.
I move forward,
unlock my car door,
adjust the mirrors,
and drive across a fantasy
which slides into a silver streamline
that might just be mine.

It begins and ends,
the life reminds the liver
to look around. It gets dangerous
to stay alone in one room with myself
for multiple mannered moments.
I’m a by-product of this
wet new love I wish I could rock.
But how do I talk to you?
It’s the romance movement in cinema.
I want to stretch its sins around me
and open up another door
I’ve never breathed about before.
But it’s still mine, that
faraway planet
made of granite,
backwards lessons,
and my recession’s deep depression.
Let’s discover love together.

I’ll be wandering.
You can find me hanging out with Cool.
You can kiss me if you do, but if you don’t
I’ll bury my body and
board this eschew transition to a plane
that worries whether its wings are feign or true.
I’m soaring in the stain
that desires a timeless nighttime,
losing Right and finding You.
I have two eyes for looking lonely
and insecurities scarring my certainty but somehow
we’ll walk like gravity in another masterpiece.
We’ll talk like the dialogue should be
written down, I’m ready for your eyes,
they are the expanding direction of the universe.

I’ll take you out to lunch somewhere no one’s been.
Because this is the feeling I wake up in the morning for.
You are the iconic image of valuable adolescence
that lingers like a raincloud when the body’s sick with drought.
I want your soft hair, dry hands, silent snare.
I want your delicate demeanor,
meant for only me to see her,
we to free her, us just to be.
Only you don’t see me.

My skin is liquid invisible.
I worry I’m inventing the connection,
but it’s the only one that’s worth it.
Mine, ours, us, this
secret sound existence, this
excruciating darkness, this
blue dream of
​reckless union.

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​Miriam is a Literati Fellow with Get Lit – Words Ignite.
Check out more about Get Lit HERE and ​read more about Miriam in Simon & Schuster’s Get Lit Rising, available for pre-order HERE!

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